Siobhàn ejected the spent magazine, her hand moving on instinct as she jammed in her last. The rifle's weight felt heavier now, like it sensed how little was left. She counted the rounds in her head—too few. No grenades, no backup weapon. Her options were running dry.
Gunfire erupted again, closer this time, peppering the wall she used as cover with sharp cracks of stone and dust. She returned fire, short controlled bursts aimed at suppressing more than hitting anything. It worked for a few seconds—enough to force them to keep their heads down—but she knew it wouldn't last.
She glanced back at Morrigan. Still down. Still unmoving. Every second counted, and they didn't have many left.
Then it came—silence. Not the kind that comes from victory or retreat but something else entirely. Even the mech had stopped moving. What the hell is going on? Why are they stopping?
